The One With The Sharks
by astudyinkevin
Summary: Set after the Scarecrow, Sam and Dean stop at a motel and Dean thinks he recognizes the owner, but he has no idea how. Another FRIENDS episode title fic request/challenge


"Sunnyvale, California, that's kind of close to Stanford, ain't it?" Dean asked. One arm rested on Baby's steering wheel while the other hung out the window and made wave motions in the wind.

Sam didn't look up from the map he was reading, "Kinda, but I think we should drive through Sacramento on the way there." That's where Dad had called from when Sam decided to leave Dean to as fodder for a pagan god disguised as a scarecrow.

"Sammy, Dad told us to not go lookin' for him. When we reach Sacramento, I'm not stopping, even for your tiny bladder. Dad'd tan our hides if we put off our next case and someone else died."

Sam sucked his teeth and rubbed a hand over his chin, but didn't say anymore on rebelling against his dad's wishes, "You need to merge onto this next interstate," he grumbled.

A tense hour later the two drove into a Motel 6 parking lot inside the Sunnyvale city limits.

"I got the keys; wait here," Dean said. Sam threw Dean Bitchface #12. "You know, I think we could have your facial expressions patented," Dean knew they were both tired, but he still tried for some humor.

Sam's frown deepened.

Dean stepped into the small lounge with the reception desk that appeared to be an old high school science lab desk.

He rang the little bell twice in rapt succession with no noise registering to his ears. Great, they didn't even have a working desk bell. Shifting from one foot to the other Dean hesitated before tautly calling out, "Hey, paying customer waiting out here!"

"One moment please!" a disembodied feminine voice called from behind him.

Dean spun around and heard a toilet flush. From a white paint-chipped door adjacent to him emerged a relatively tall brown woman with intense eyes and wide mouth. She was young and lithe with a pixie cut and bangs dyed purple. She had a familiar look about her. Dean couldn't help but notice a small canister of pepper spray hanging off of the keys she was holding in her slender hand. He couldn't blame her with working this job alone at midnight.

Stepping behind the pitiful desk, she gave Dean a once over before asking sweetly, "You alone?"

"Nope, two double-beds please," Dean pulled out a credit card labeled: **Dean James**. For some reason Dean could hear Sam's nagging about credit cards in his head.

When she took the card from his hand, Dean flashed her the cockiest grin he could muster this time of night, "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The woman returned his card; once again she ran her eyes up and down his form, "Don't think so," she replied.

Maybe he had once worked a case that involved her, "You sure we've never met anywhere? Like a bar, another motel—possibly a morgue?"

"Beg pardon?" she said cooly, fierce eyebrows raised.

"It's—it's nothin', jus' tired; nevermind," Dean picked up the room keys, each labeled 7, from the desk. Dean backed out of the small room, knocking the doorframe roughly on his shoulder, "Evenin'," he managed to go from suave to shy teenager in 3 seconds.

 _Way to go, Dean_ , he mentally berated himself.

After toeing his boots off, Dean flopped onto one of the hard mattresses in their room. He didn't bother untying the shoelaces, which he knew was dangerous if he had to get ready in a hurry and couldn't just slip his shoes on. But right now he didn't care; he simply hugged his pillow and fell asleep before Sam was even finished brushing his teeth. However, Dean's pretty sure he felt Sam remove his socks for him.

The next morning the most obnoxious but steamy music woke Dean up, "What's with the baby making music?" he sat up.

"Whatever the radio was set on for the last people who stayed in this room, I guess," Sam was already dressed and sitting in front of the laptop.

Dean grimaced and rubbed the sleep boogers from his eyes.

"So we've got a ghost? Did you find out who's carving words into babies?" he asked.

"Dean-," Sam paused briefly, "I've got to confess something."

"What? Tell me you haven't kept trying to call Dad, tell me, _Sammy_."

"Don't you dare 'Sammy' me," Sam growled despite his sheepishness, "About the case—I don't think there is one."

"What do you mean 'there's no case', infant bodies are being mutilated and you're telling me it's the work of _people_?"

"That's what I'm saying. Remember the Benders? You said so yourself, Dean, people are crazy. Police caught the guy this morning."

"What was his motive?"

"Going insane after his kid died of SIDS is what this article says."

Dean flopped back down onto his pillow, "Where are we supposed to go now? _What_ are we supposed to do now?"

"There's an ice skating rink not far from here" Sam said jokingly.

Even though Dean knew his brother was kidding, he popped up off the bed, "Sounds fun, I've never gone ice skating before."

"Course you have, what kid's never been ice skating?" Sam declared.

"Maybe you went with your junior high girlfriend, but _I've_ never been; unless you're counting slipping across a frozen pond in boots while chasing a wendigo." Dean paused, "Ice skating in Sunnyshit, Cali, do you think it's just an ice cube?"

"I think it's a frozen indoor ring," Sam replied drily, "Seriously, Dean? You're going ice skating?" Dean was changing into his only pair of sweatpants and putting on both pairs of his nicest socks after buttoning flannel over his green Henly.

"Hey, lay off, bitch, everyone's got a bucketlist."

"Yeah, but yours is just a list of actors and models."

"I also want to see the Grand Canyon and visit a nude beach," Dean smiled as he tied up his boots and stood up. "You coming or what?"

Sam snorted, "You're being an overgrown child."

A small frown passed Dean's face, "I think it sounds like fun, you can stay here and look for a case, take care of _personal_ business, look for a case _while_ taking care of personal business; I don't care. Give me an address."

Sam sent Dean on his merry way and flopped down on his bed with a tv remote. It took him a second to realize someone had stolen the batteries, so he borrowed ones from Dean's walkman. He felt bad about his attitude toward his older brother just now. It was actually really upsetting that he'd never had the opportunity to ice skate. Not for the first time that week, Sam cursed his father. He had better find that demon and find it soon. Maybe once it was dead, things would get better.

He actually laughed at himself; things would never change.

Flipping through the channels, Sam found a free channel playing _Casa Erotica_ and leaned back into his pillows.

Dean bought a public session sticker and affixed it to his flannel shirt with a smile. He rented a pair of skates on the same card he used last night. Standing up on the blades was awkward.

Walking is even harder.

This must be how Sam felt growing and stumbling like a giraffe through high school, Dean thinks. He kind of wishes Sam was there with him for this. Whatever, he did plenty of stuff on his own after Sam left for Stanford and Dad left for alcohol. He didn't necessarily _want_ to be alone though.

Sighing, Dean resolved to have fun with this experience. He pushed open the door to the rink and cautiously put one foot out on the ice. It slipped forward at an angle and Dean had to grab the dasher board to keep from doing the splits and pull himself back upright. He let out a deep breath and put his other foot on the ice. With his arms out like a bird, Dean tried pushing forward like he would on roller skates (he'd worked at a themed bar the second year Sam was at college). His bow legs kept spreading wider and wider. Trying to pull his right leg back closer to him while the left one was sliding away was difficult and Dean's arms were suddenly flailing.

He found himself wishing for more padding on his butt.

Standing up on the ice was harder. Everyone around him was moving. He slid back to the dasher board and pulled himself back on his feet. He stood still for a couple minutes.

"Hey!" a blonde woman in hockey skates called, "You can't hold onto the dasher board! Also, traffic has to keep moving." She ground to a halt next to him.

"S—sorry," Dean stuttered; he told himself it was from the cold.

"Been a while since you had any action?" She asked.

"Nah!" Dean blushed defensively before realizing she wasn't talking about his dating life, "Well—um, sorta never done this gig before."

"There's a bucket area for beginning skaters," she smiled up at Dean and took his arm. Across the arena, he noticed there were children pushing buckets around on the ice.

"I don't think I need that," he embarrassingly let the woman drag him by the arm.

"Come on, Bowlegs, move those feet, I'm not hauling your ass all the way over there."

The minute he tried pushing forward he nearly slipped to his knees; the blonde held him until he was steady again, "Bend your legs more and point those feet forward," she told him.

She left him on the ice to retrieve a small stack of buckets and told him pushing them around would help him learn the feel of skating. Dean was so embarrassed he didn't even consider flirting with her. Everyone else around him were _children_. Maybe it was a good thing Sammy wasn't here.

"If you'd like a few lessons, you can sign up for classes in the front office before you go," the stranger mock saluted him and turned a circle before skating away.

Dean was loath to admit it, but the buckets helped.

Later that afternoon, Dean pulled back into the motel parking lot and stepped out of the Impala looking worse than he had when he was nearly made a pagan sacrifice. But this time he had a smile on his face. He had stayed another hour or so after pushing the buckets around for a bit. He even flirted with a few people (who, of course, had just arrived and not seen him before), holding their waists as he skated around the rink.

Stepping into the bedroom, he noticed the curtains were still drawn and the lights were off. Milliseconds later, the room glowed from Sam flipping on the small bedside table lamp.

"Hey, Dean," Sam greeted nonchalantly.

Dean smirked at his brother after taking in his flushed face and bed head, "Do anything fun while I was skating circles around Todd Eldredge?"

"How do you know who Todd Eldredge is?"

"Answer my question, Sammy."

"Don't be a jerk, Dean, I was just reading," Sam huffed.

"In the dark?"

"In the dark," Sam lamely affirmed.

Walking further into the room, Dean bent over at his hips and very conspicuously looked sideways at the TV that was on. What he saw surprised him.

"Sharks, Sammy? Really?" There seemed to be some documentary on Great Whites and Hammerheads.

"Shut up," Sam stood up and went to the bathroom.

Dean flopped down on his own bed, feeling vindicated.

After hearing the shower turn on, he flipped the TV off and heard a loud knock at the door, "Housekeeping!" The same voice who checked him in last night called.

Sighing because of his sore limbs, Dean stood up and answered the door. "It's one o'clock, aren't you supposed to come in the morning?" he leaned against the door frame.

"Late night—I had my only guests checking in at a god-awful hour," she swiftly rebutted, pushing past Dean with an armful of towels and cleaning spray.

Dean watched her figure walking away from him and it just looked so familiar, like he'd seen it in a swimsuit once. That was probably just wishful thinking. There was something about her voice too, the sharp and witty tone. Dean shook his head, after years of faces and names, he couldn't be expected to remember them all.

"So," he pulled himself out of his stupor, "What can I call you?"

The woman was pulling the sheets down and back up almost mechanically, and without looking up at him said, "You can call me Maya, so long as you don't try to flirt with me anymore; I'm not interested."

"Okay," Dean agreed.

"Your friend in the shower?" She asked.

"Yeah, I don't think we need any towels though," he replied.

"Gotcha," she walked across the room and gazed into the trash bin and pulled the bag with meager contents out. "I'll get out of y'all's hair then."

Dean didn't want her to leave yet, "Are we really the only business you've got right now?"

"Well, you and my roommate who's only been crashing with me before finding a job as a mechanical engineer," she snorts, "That was two years ago, most nights are spent in bars tryin' to pick up anything that moves. We used to rent an apartment across town together but then I inherited this money pit from my parents."

"Oh, well, we should be gone by tomorrow and then you'll be back to babysitting your friend."

"You should come by the master suite tonight, my girlfriend and I are making beef tortilla soup and a margarita pie. I make the best margarita pie in the world."

Dean's mouth watered at the thought of not having Taco Bell for a third night in a row, "That sounds awesome." And margarita _pie_ , the only other time Dean had tried that delicious dish was when Sam was in school and he was— "I know that I know you from somewhere." He accused.

"Dude! Quit being weird or I take back the invitation!"

Raising his hands in a gesture of pleading he said, "Please don't take pie away from me, Maya."

"See you in a few hours, Dean," Maya raised a towel clad arm at him and left the room.

Sam emerged from the shower and toweled his hair off, "Was that the cleaning lady?" He asked.

"That was Maya," Dean replied, "and I've seen her before, I just can't remember where from."

"You probably slept with her," Sam suggested.

Dean shook his head, "I remember all my one night stands and she wasn't one of them. People we meet on cases? No. But I remember all my partners faces—well except for that _one_ bar in Tallahassee..." he trailed off, "Anyways she's invited us for grub in her suite tonight."

"Better than fast food," Sam amended, sitting on his newly made bed.

Dean remained standing.

Sam sighed, "What is it, Dean? You look like you're trying to poop and things aren't working."

"It's just, the only other time I've had margarita pie was when I was watching—I mean visiting—you at Stanford."

"And she makes the only margarita pie in southern California?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe I'll recognize the recipe when I taste it. Trust me, I _know_ my pie—" Dean got cut off.

"When were you spying on me at school?" Sam accused.

"I had to keep an eye on you, Sammy. Two years ago all I got to go on was radio silence," Dean made his way over to his towel clad brother.

"I'm sorry, Dean. It got to be too hard to keep my lives separate after I met Jess—," Sam sighed but Dean missed the rest of what Sam said.

Was Dean a bad person for being happy Jess' death led Sam back to Dean? It really felt like sometimes. But he needed his brother in his life. For four years Dean had worked mostly solo hunts, only seeing his dad every few weeks and most of those times John had been drunk. It hadn't been much, but that and his less than romantic sexcapades had been enough to keep his head above water. But now John was gone and Dean _needed_ another person there with him. He needed Sammy in his life right now way more than Sam needed him. Even if he was getting through his girlfriend's death, Sam would be better at the whole "keeping friends and not living like a recluse" thing if his family wasn't here.

Dean couldn't handle where his headspace was going.

"It's fine, Sam," He told his brother who had already stopped talking, "I need a few more hours. Wake me up when it's dinnertime, 'kay?" Dean lay down.

"Sure thing, Ice Princess," Sam went to his duffle to get dressed and spend a few hours on his lap top.

Dean woke up with drool all over his pillow and neck. He winced as he felt muscles he had never used before tense up. However the thought of a home cooked meal got him out of bed.

He and Sam made their way to the master suite located by the check-in office a few minutes later.

Sam knocked on the door and Dean was almost knocked off his feet when Maya opened the aperture and heavenly spicy smells wafted out the door.

A familiar woman with blonde hair stood over the stove in the kitchenette area.

"That's Ava," Maya pointed and Ava turned around. Dean flushed because he knew she had to recognize him from the ice skating rink earlier.

Ava smirked at Dean and asked, "How are those ass-bruises doing?"

Sam stared at Dean expectingly.

"I met her at the rink earlier today," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Skates like Bambi," Ava affirmed and Sam chuckled.

"Ava plays hockey for the Sharks," Maya crooned.

"Y'know, my brother here _loves_ sharks," Dean elbowed Sam's chest a little to hard.

"We can start eating, my roommate is out right now," Maya rolled her eyes.

Dean drank his tortilla soup in only a few gulps, beans and all, much to Sam's disgust. At the first bite of pie, Dean exclaimed, "Son of a bitch!"

"That good?" Sam asked.

"Too good!" Dean exclaimed and stood up, "I've had this pie before!"

Maya gave him a confused look, but before she could continue, the door opened and her roommate stomped in.

Dean spun around and saw a familiar face, "T-Taylor!" he had trouble getting the name past his lips.

"Dean Winchester," came the reply.

"Winchester?"

"Crap, Sammy, time to go."

Sam looked up at Dean with understanding on his face, "So you didn't sleep with the girl, just her roommate, huh?"

"Must've seen Maya in a photo or something," Dean thought aloud, unable to stop himself, "We ate the pie in the fridge after we—," he managed to cut himself off and blush. Taylor had been one of his better lays and left the next morning without even saying so much as 'bye'.

"What you get for spying on me," Sam muttered.


End file.
